The lagom of it all: Masters contender Ludvig Åberg is a different kind of golf phenom

New York Times

07-04-2025

Ludvig Åberg is not here to golf. He's a few hundred yards from one of the most famous courses in the country, but he's hardly allowed to pick up a club yet. Not that he'd even want to.
It's late October in Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla., and Åberg is sitting at what they've jokingly called the bridal suite, chugging electrolytes from a small vanity serving as his headquarters during two of the more foreign days of his life. He's at the end of a big Adidas media push at TPC Sawgrass. A vintage-inspired golf apparel line — 'The Original' — built around him, to debut just before the 2025 Masters. Photoshoots. Interviews. Going nonstop from 7 a.m. to dinnertime. This is all new to Åberg, a tall, charismatic 25-year-old rising star Swede with a warm smile, a chill disposition and an aversion to drawing attention to himself. He craves Chipotle and rejects flash automobiles. No fluff needed. But all of it is fine until the photographer asks him to act or to throw in a model face. That's when he internally recoils.
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Åberg underwent meniscus surgery at the beginning of September. It was his first extended time off in nearly two years. Back then, he was a college senior. He had no idea he'd earn his PGA Tour card before he graduated, win on the DP World Tour and PGA Tour within the year, or play on a winning Ryder Cup team. Much less that he'd contend in his first majors and reach top-five in the world all before he got a break since that moment in time before it all changed.
Think of your normal golf phenom. They're likely rushing to get back from injury. They're dying without a club in their hand. They were born and raised into a golf world where it became their entire life and personality. Think Tiger Woods on the range six months after a horrific car crash. Think most of the stars of this generation, nerding out over every detail in a golf swing, remembering each shot they've hit at each hole for the last 10 years. That is not Ludvig Åberg. No, his weeks off included time in New York seeing the sights. He returned to Florida and relaxed, watching Liverpool and cooking with his girlfriend, Olivia. He didn't miss the clubs for a second.
'Sometimes I feel like I have a little bit better balance off golf course life. I've had seven weeks off from a tournament and I feel fine. Sure, I miss it a lot, my fingers are itching. But I still feel good. Where some guys, they need to play tournaments. They need to be there because golf is their identity,' Åberg says.
He loves golf, to be clear. He loves its history. Loves the work it takes to be excellent at it. Loves the way the work is never finished. But he wasn't built in a lab destined for this career. If he wasn't a golfer, he'd be completely happy doing something else. He does not remember the clubs he hit on certain holes or sit up at night, reminiscing over the painful misses.
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Well, OK, he remembers one.
'A 5-iron,' he says with a laugh. 'I remember that!'
He's referring to the club he used on No. 11 at Augusta National, trying to become the first rookie to win the Masters in 45 years. Standing comfortably in the fairway with a chance to elevate into a new stratosphere, just one shot back of the leader Scottie Scheffler, Åberg and caddie Joe Skovron agreed on a 5-iron starting out well right of the water and drawing over to the green. It was the right play. But he drew it just a tad too much, hitting the bank in front of the green and falling into the water. The eventual double bogey ultimately cost him the title.
He grimaced, turned to Skovron and simply made a 'yikes' face. By the time he walked off the green four shots back, he was laughing. Laughing. At the biggest mistake of his career. It was charming. It is why people enjoy him. But, to the cynics, it could be twisted as a sign that Åberg isn't wired like the great competitors in sports. That, according to Skovron, would be a massive 'misconception.'
Ludvig Åberg is not your usual golf phenom. It's why he might last longer than all the rest.
Back at the Eslöv Golf Club, you could find an angry Ludvig Åberg, as shocking as that sounds today. He was 12, maybe 13. He wasn't serious about golf yet. It remained the furthest thing from a career path. His father, Johan, used to bribe a kindergarten-aged-Åberg with ice cream just to get him to hang out with him at the course in Skåne, the one with the Bråån river cutting through it.
Åberg did not throw a tantrum or clubs. He got quiet. He pouted.
So Johan packed up their bags and drove him home immediately.
'I didn't take the time out of my day to walk with you and you be grumpy,' Johan says. 'I don't care how you play. We're gonna have a good time, OK?'
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In an era of specialized sports phenoms honing in their craft just after preschool and turning pro right after getting their driver's license, he represents a different kind of budding superstar. He refuses to intertwine his entire identity with the sport. He simultaneously wants to be one of the greats and wants to be normal.
There's a Swedish term called 'lagom.' Law-gum. It roughly translates to 'just the right amount.' Not too much. Not too little. Some Swedish cultural writers suggest it's a large part of the country's identity. Balance. Understanding the big picture, not to overdo something because it might come back to bite you. Functionally it's applied on everything from avoiding abundance to the temperature of milk.
The 2024 World Happiness Report listed Sweden as the fourth-happiest country in the world, just behind its neighbors Finland, Denmark and Iceland. Swedish author Lola Akinmade Åkerström told Forbes, 'a lagom mindset tries to remove stress within its control to always keep that scale balanced. Sustainable habits that can be maintained on a daily basis are the key to keeping that equilibrium.'
Does this sound like Ludvig Åberg?
'He's not very social, but he's not very introverted. He's kind of lagom,' his coach Hans Larsson says.
He didn't specialize in golf until far later than most athletes, playing soccer, floorball and other sports until just before high school. His inner circle jokes he'd still drop it all to play for Liverpool. He did enough to earn a spot at Filbornaskolan, a sports-specialized high school in Helsingborg, where he was classmates with Solheim Cup stars Maja Stark and Linn Grant. There, he connected with Larsson, who is still his coach. Until then, he just played for fun, never training or putting any real work in. He jokes that going to Filbornaskolan was the first time he practiced. Then he went to Texas Tech, where he slowly got better and better, winning every national award multiple times and leaving as the most pro-ready amateur the sport has seen since Jordan Spieth.
'I never had the must of becoming a professional golfer,' Åberg says. 'I always felt like, sure as hell I want to, but it's not like I need to. I felt like if it's not golf, it's something else. But obviously, I happen to play golf and I understood probably around high school that it's something I can do for a long time and for a living. But it was never, 'I have to go to college. I have to go to this school. I have to be here and then I have to go there.''
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Skovron first met Åberg on a FaceTime call as the latter walked through the airport. It was an arranged marriage to some extent. Åberg's management team wanted to find the perfect caddie — experienced, with the right temperament — to pair with its client, an uber-talented rookie learning how to be a pro. That team honed in on Skovron, Rickie Fowler's longtime friend and caddie, but by then working with another budding star, Tom Kim. On that FaceTime, Skovron saw what a clip of Åberg's beautiful swing couldn't tell you.
'It was the first time that I've ever been that, like — he's so calm,' Skovron says. 'And he's so much more mature than his age that it was like I didn't feel like I was talking to a 24-year-old. I felt like I was talking to a guy that had been out there.'
From Day 1, Åberg leaned on Skovron. He trusts his reads. He trusts his course knowledge. As he prepared for his first Masters last April, each response to the challenge equated to some version of: 'I've got Joe.' While Skovron downplays his influence, crediting Åberg's ability to take that information and make it his own, it's a perfect pair so far. Ten top-10s in this first year together. A signature win this February at the Genesis Invitational.
But go back to No. 11 at Augusta. A 5-iron in the water. That's the kind of moment that becomes scar tissue for so many. The one that could break you, let alone at your first major. That's why what everyone saw next was so important.
Åberg laughing.
'There is no lack of killer mentality. He has all those things. He just has such good perspective and knows what he needs to do to succeed, that he knows how to make himself get back into that state he needs to succeed,' Skovron says.
A year later, the caddie takes so much pride in talking about what happened next. Åberg went to the short par-three 12th. Horror stories are told about the men who went aggressively for the Sunday back right pin. Don't do it. Woods won the 2019 Masters because his contemporaries got aggressive and landed in the water, while Woods pounded the center of the green with a safe shot to par. There's nothing more dangerous than a young, pissed off golfer going to 12 trying to make up for a double bogey.
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Åberg pounded the center of the green. A grown-up par. Then he birdied 13. And 14. He finished solo second place at the Masters, three shots ahead of third, in his first-ever major start. In his post-tournament interview, question after question came about the mistake on 11, about the crushing nature of coming so close. He laughed each question off. Guys, I just finished second at the Masters.
When he was asked about that day in October, he immediately lit up because that was the rare week his family came to the United States from Sweden. That was so cool for him. So while others thought he might be sad, he ordered Chipotle catering to the house and had a fun, love-filled night with his family and friends. Guys, I just finished second at the Masters.
But Åberg cares. He spends constant time on the range, fine-tuning details with Larsson. He goes over each round with a checklist and studies the good and bad with Skovron and the team. He enjoys going through data and statistics to understand where he's at, ensuring he fixes his issues but doesn't lose track of what's working. 'It switches on,' he says. 'When I go to the golf course and when I go into a tournament round, I want nothing else than to win or play good or beat the other guy. But then once you get off, 'OK, now we leave the briefcase at the golf course and we come home.''
There's an undeniable calmness about Åberg, and that can trick you into believing nothing is under the surface.
'To me, your competitiveness shows up in the work you put in and how you address it, the off weeks, the practice rounds and just doing all the little things that add up,' Skovron says. 'That's what shows me your competitive nature more than acting a certain way on the golf course.'
So trailing by four with six holes to go at the Genesis Invitational in February, Åberg reminded everyone he has a little killer. He birdied 13-14-15 as leader Maverick McNealy lost one stroke. Then, tied on 18 with everything down to him, Åberg sunk the birdie putt to win the biggest event of his career. Finally, even if just for a moment, we saw him let loose with a shouting fist pump.
'It's almost addicting to walk down those last couple holes and just want to do it again,' Åberg says.
After his rookie season ended, Åberg moved into the new house he bought in Ponte Vedra, making TPC Sawgrass his home course. He had one primary want in his housing search — his own gym in the garage. He's adjusting to this new level of adulthood, talking about fixing water heaters and talking to the pool guy. Simple has a negative connotation, but he is a simple person. He loves Chipotle for most meals. After his Genesis win, he and the team got In-N-Out burgers. 'A bit of tacos, a bit of ice cream and some Liverpool on the TV and he is happy,' Larsson jokes.
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There was the time a 'supercar' was sent for Åberg. Everyone around him thought it was cool. He absolutely did not. Why couldn't they just send a normal car?
'He's not comfortable around things that are standing out too much or about luxury,' Larsson adds.
Åberg is at an inflection point in his life, the one where a player expected to do things is suddenly doing them. He's already earned $20 million in tournaments, and that's before those endorsement deals with Adidas, Tumi and so on and so on. When he first turned pro, this guy playing like a top-20 golfer in the world was paying $400 a month to live in fellow professional Swedish golfer Vincent Norrman's guest room in Tallahassee, Fla.
'Vinny kicked me out,' Åberg says with a laugh. 'He got sick of me, probably.'
It worked because that first year was go-go-go trying to adjust to tour life and raise his status. At one point, he and Norrman were both home in February and didn't run into each other at the house again until June. But Norrman, a Florida State golf alumnus, helped set him up at the FSU course and facilities where coach Trey Jones took Åberg in and told him to make himself at home. They saw a golfer who still treated himself like the unassuming college kid that he recently was, but one coming into stardom in real time.
Jones asked him all the time what he could do to help, what he needed. Åberg responded, 'No, what can I do for you?' He practiced with the team, including the next big amateur phenom, Luke Clanton. He practiced with junior golfers, sometimes Jones' son. FSU has a no-autographs policy at the course to make sure pros feel comfortable there, but when a bunch of kids approached Åberg, He was happy to oblige.
'You would have thought he played for me for four years the way he interacted with my team, the way he interacted with members, the way he interacted with the coaching staff,' Jones says.
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When he arrived in Tallahassee, he was a rookie with promise. By the time he left, he was getting stopped in Target. Life would no longer be normal.
Now, Åberg goes to Augusta as one of the five or so best players in the world. He's considered by most to be the current best golfer without a major, and he's only played in four. It is simultaneously all in front of him, and it's all right here already. He was asked in October his goals for 2025, his first real season as a top star.
Win a tournament: Check.
Make the Ryder Cup team: Unofficially a check.
After that, he doesn't think in those types of terms. He thinks about processes.
'I have a lot of acceptance for expectations,' he says. 'I understand there's always going to be a lot of expectations outside, from the inside, and I'm OK with that. I'm OK with a lot of people thinking I'm going to do this or that. I'm OK with myself thinking that way. But it doesn't change the way that I approach the game or my training or my practice. That's still going to be the same.'
Whatever happens, it's unlikely he will carry it with him much after. He'll go through his checklist. He'll figure out what went well and what didn't. And then he'll go home and be fine.
'A golf career is so long,' he says, 'and there's so many golf shots to be hit, so many rounds to be played, that I think if you live and die by every shot, it's going to be tricky.'
But there's one part he's leaving out. Not everybody's golf career lasts long. No, the tales of superstar youngsters burning out are becoming all too common. It's because Åberg doesn't live and die by every shot that his career might last. Because he does care. He just cares exactly the right amount. Lagom.
(Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Richard Heathcote / Getty Images)